


A Routine of Sorts

by notbrianna



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, world's most nebbishy porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notbrianna/pseuds/notbrianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the past few weeks Angie and Peggy had developed something of a routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Routine of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> I own neither the characters nor the setting.

Over the past few weeks Angie and Peggy had developed something of a routine. Every whenever, Peggy would go into Angie’s room and talk her day at the “phone company,” how her coworkers were a bunch of fatheads while Angie poured them both glasses of schnapps and a slice of cake. Peggy would then make suggestive noises around her cake in between making sympathetic noises while Angie talked about the fatheads she met at work; the girls she met at various auditions—many of whom either weren’t as talented as Angie (by Angie’s own admission) or didn’t have legs half as nice as Peggy’s. 

This usually lead to one or the other of them complaining about some body part or other being sore, followed by an offter to massage the offending body part (once the corresponding article of clothing had been carefully and lovingly removed). Of course, it’s a poor masseur who only knows one technique, leading to rubbing, feather-light stroking, and lipstick in strange places due to the use of teeth (and tongues and lips).

And just as freshening up a room in one’s home makes all the others seem dreary by comparison, so too does massaging the soreness out of one body part make all the others seem sore by comparison. So off come the rest of the clothes (“we wouldn’t want to chafe now would we?”) and again with the rubbing and the stroking and the noises that could surely get the question of whether or not the Griffith Hotel’s “no men above the first floor” rule had a distaff counterpart.

And, really, what kind of monster doesn’t reciprocate? So now there’s another set of clothes coming off, more parts being rubbed and whatnot, and yet more noises of dubious legitimacy.

Once all that’s out of the way, they like to put some of their clothes back on, squish themselves into the one-person bed and rip whatever’s on the radio to shreds.


End file.
